LIKE ELIJAH — Poem by Youlika K. Masry


No, I won’t die.

I can’t!

I have no loved one’s palms

to lay down

my life’s trophies

—poems, errors, soufflés—

before returning

my borrowed breath

to God.

Condemned to earthly eternity

I will thus go on and on,

unless He picks me up

in a chariot of fire

like Elijah

and I get to be loved

—at the eleventh hour—

by the whirlwind.


Youlika K. Masry


(March 8, 2004)

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